Hades & the Siren
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: The Dark Lord and Minerva McGonagall had spent a lifetime harbouring a shameful, private secret. That the wizard who embodied Death himself and the woman who shone good deeds like a beacon of hope could connect in some way would never be understood by their peers. Written for BattleShips - Diagon Alley II [COMPLETE!]
1. Decades of Regret

**Presenting my Hades & The Goddess Collection for the Diagon Alley II BattleShips event! **

**Please note : I have altered canon birthdates to fit the pairing together for this collection. I am writing Minerva and Tom with the following birthdates:**

 **Minerva: 4** **th** **October, 1935 (Canon)**

 **Tom: 31** **st** **December, 1932 (Altered from 1926)**

 **Also, the chapters will go** _ **backwards**_ **in time, so please make sure you check the dates provided before you read on into the chapter :)**

* * *

 **First prompt used: Anniversary**

 **Word Count: 502**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

 _ **Decades of Regrets**_

* * *

 _December 21_ _st_ _, 1998_

She stands at a silent church altar, the tears spilling softly down her face.

It's all over now. She's thankful, of course. He caused more pain and devastation in his wake than any dark witch or wizard before him, and he had to be stopped. He had killed so many people; people she knew, people she loved, people who had a hold on her heart. The darkness hadn't just crept into him; it had permeated him with an onslaught of irresistible needles, and sunk a malevolent venom deep within his heart.

Today would be their anniversary. Minerva had willed herself to forget the dates and memories that she had shared with the boy who transitioned into Voldemort, but they were so ingrained within her psyche, not even the strongest memory charm would be able to shift them. It had been a hard decision, but since he was now dead and gone, Minerva had decided that it would be appropriate to mourn the man that she had once loved.

So here she stood, at the quiet church in the south of England where they had chosen to marry. It had been a secret service; not even the people close to them had been able to know about it. As Minerva looked up at the small church, taking in its run-down appearance, shabby brickwork and crumbling statues, she allowed the tears to continue to splash onto her robes.

She could hardly believe that on this day, forty-six years ago, she had decided to marry that man who would become the most deadly wizard on the entire planet. Forty-six years ago, she had given her heart to the man who could crush it as easily as he could squash a grape. Forty-six years ago, she had been in love. Young, childish, carefree love—but it was love all the same.

How naive she had been, to think that she could change such a man.

Minerva felt her wrinkled, aged hands clench into fists as images of the pale, charming, dark-haired youth that she had met so many decades ago flooded back into her mind. Even though she knew first hand what he had turned into, she still couldn't believe that he had done it. She had given him everything she was, and he still absconded her for darkness.

Today would be their forty-sixth anniversary, if they were still married. Today would be the day that they would share fond memories together; have dinner with their children, if Tom had been a normal man, and they had been an ordinary couple.

Today they would be talking happily about their long life together, and continuing to grow old.

But none of that was ever going to happen to Minerva. Her fate had been sealed in stone from the moment that she had handed her soul in it's entirety to Tom Riddle. They may have lived together for an extremely short duration of time, but in the end they would die alone.


	2. Afternoon Tea with Vows

**Prompt used: A Family Outing**

 **Word Count: 1,357**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

 _ **Afternoon Tea with Vows**_

* * *

 _December 24_ _th_ _, 1974_

In a dim, candlelit tearoom in Muggle London, three people had gathered together for afternoon tea.

They wouldn't be recognisable to any witch or wizard, due to the way that two of them appeared to the naked eye.

The first woman stood out drastically; mainly due to the fact that she had tried a little too hard to appear ordinary. Her hair was jet black, streaked excessively with white and grey, and she was wearing a large pair of circular framed sunglasses on her forehead, despite being indoors. She was wearing a suit that consisted of a pin drop, knee length skirt and a blazer jacket with thick, puffy sleeves. The suit would have been considered fairly average, if not for the emerald green velvet it was made from.

Beneath the guise of a potent Polyjuice Potion, the woman was Minerva McGonagall.

Sat opposite her was the only male at the table. The many glamouring spells he had cast gave him the appearance of a large, podgy gentleman, with a shiny bald head and a thick, grey moustache, causing him to appear very reminiscent of a walrus. He was wearing corduroy trousers and a yellow and brown woollen tank top over a cream coloured shirt.

The camouflage was so well executed, no one would ever suspect that this chubby old man was really the Dark Lord beneath a very intricate disguise.

Sitting beside Minerva was a younger, thin woman, with a pale, pointed face, dark green eyes and chestnut brown hair, twirled up in a high up-do. She didn't need any kind of disguise charm or potion, due to the fact that no one in the wizarding world had any knowledge of her existence. Beside her in the empty space under the window was a large blue pram, containing a sleeping infant, named William, with a mop of ebony fluff upon his peaky head.

The three adults remained silent as they waited for their order to arrive at the table. During the lack of communication, Minerva and Voldemort eyed each other quietly, neither appearing to care about the disguises they wore.

Eventually, a short Muggle waitress with a blonde beehive decorated with Christmas holly sauntered over to the table, holding a large tray which contained a teapot and three teacups. "Merry Christmas, folks! Mince pies are on the house, today!" She placed the tray on the wooden table, and then smiled at the three of them, momentarily cooing at baby William in the pram, before heading back to the kitchens.

No one moved for several moments, but then suddenly both Minerva and Voldemort reached for the teapot at the same time, their hands brushing. The two of them clutched at a section of the china teapot, and glared across the table at one another.

"I've got it, Minerva," Voldemort assured her in a smooth voice. It was odd to see the silky tone leaving the mouth of this large, ugly man, but Minerva wasn't swayed.

"Don't worry, Tom. I can handle pouring our daughter some tea," she replied. Voldemort's eyes flickered dangerously.

"I don't go by that name any more. Surely you've heard, Minerva."

"Of course," she answered in a crisp tone. "But I refuse to call you by the ridiculous name you insist your followers refer to you as, _Tom_."

They continued to bore their eyes into each other venomously. After several minutes of deafening silence, during which the young woman beside Minerva gave a slight cough, Voldemort removed his hands from the teapot, his wide mouth stretching in to a smile.

Minerva lifted the teapot from the tray and slowly poured three of the cups, and they each added sugar and milk to their tastes. After taking a long drink from his cup, Voldemort was the first to speak. "So, the last several months have been quite unusual, Minerva," he began in his slithery voice. "First, you contact me out of the blue to tell me that we have a daughter together; something you neglected to tell me for two decades. Then it turns out that she has given birth to a child of her own, which is acceptable. But now we are meeting here, undercover on Christmas Eve. What is the meaning of this rendezvous?"

"I think you know exactly why we're meeting here, Tom," Minerva responded, taking a sip of her tea. "It's in my general knowledge that you and your gang of baboons have been committing a particularly atrocious level of crimes in the last four years. I know for a fact that it won't be considered beneath you to use people born from your blood in some of your unspeakable dark rituals."

Voldemort continued to smile, his eyes glittering menacingly. "It pains me, Minerva, to know that you think so low of me."

Minerva pursed her lips. "You know perfectly well that I do," she paused to take another sip of her tea, continuing to glare at him over the rim of her cup. "Nadine here is well aware of what you are capable of. We have both decided that— _measures_ —need to be taken to ensure that Nadine and the baby are kept safe."

The young woman—Nadine—shuffled uncomfortably as Voldemort rested his gaze upon her.

"What on earth do you think I would do to our daughter and grandchild, Minerva?" he sneered, his moustache twitching.

"Don't humour yourself," she returned, and drained her cup. "Many years ago you told me that you didn't want anyone to ever find out about our...relationship, to which I agreed. I think I would be right in assuming that your reluctance to let anyone know about it would stretch to our daughter."

Voldemort opened his mouth as if to answer, but then closed it, allowing another smirk to creep onto his heavily glamoured face. "You have my word that no harm will come to them, Minerva."

Nadine looked fearfully up at Minerva, and then allowed her gaze to shift over to the child in the pram. Minerva edged closer to her daughter protectively.

"Unfortunately that's not a good enough offer for me, Tom."

"Then what do you propose we do to solve this dilemma?" Voldemort replied. Minerva raised her eyebrow at Tom, offering him a knowing expression. Now it was his turn to purse his lips. "I'm afraid that option isn't on the cards, Minerva. I do not make spellbound promises with anyone."

Minerva placed a hand gently on Nadine's beneath the table. The young woman was shivering in fright at Voldemort's presence, and was rocking the pram in frustration, despite the William already being asleep.

"I think you will find that it's the only option, Tom," Minerva finalised in her icy voice.

Voldemort and Minerva stared over at one another, each clearly in the depths of thought. "You don't fear me, do you, Minerva?"

"I never feared you," she retorted softly.

Voldemort released a short, shrill laugh—something which looked awfully unusual coming from the mouth of the person he was disguised as. Minerva continued to glare at him stoically, and eventually Voldemort spoke again. "Very well. We will perform the Unbreakable Vow."

Luckily, the tearoom they were occupying was empty, due to their presence there on Christmas Eve. The waitress was in the kitchen, so, after what could only be described as the more uneventful family outing, Nadine withdrew her wand and proceeded to perform the Unbreakable Vow upon her parents.

It was the only way to ensure that herself and her son, William, would be kept safe.


	3. My Summer Wine

**First prompt used: First Grandchild**

 **Word Count: 2078**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

 _ **My Summer Wine**_

* * *

 _August 1st, 1974_

Summer had finally come around for Minerva, and she couldn't be happier for a well earned rest.

The academic year that had just passed had been a particularly difficult one. Minerva adored the students, even though she may not show it externally, but she couldn't deny that as she got older they began to take a toll on her. Dumbledore often told Minerva that she took on too many responsibilities on at once, but Minerva wouldn't hear of changing her routine. She enjoyed to keep busy—it kept her mind from other things.

Minerva didn't particularly enjoy leaving the castle for the lonely house that she'd inherited in Caithness. It was an empty old building, full of memories of the family that used to thrive there. Of course, she had spent a brief few years there with Tom, which they had fond memories of. But Minerva wouldn't allow herself to dwell on those particular recollections.

No; it was much easier for Minerva if she chose to remain at Hogwarts during the summer holidays with a handful of the other teachers. Hogwarts was her home now, not Caithness.

So, as she was settling down to start off the long summer break before the students would annually return, she allowed herself a small glass of sherry in her Gryffindor office. This too, was an annual event.

However, unbeknownst to Minerva, a new event commencing a few floors below, whilst she sat in the Gryffindor tower enjoying her beverage. It was something that she could never have imagined happening; not in her wildest dreams.

* * *

At two-thirty in the morning of the first of August, Minerva was awoken by Albus Dumbledore waiting patiently outside of her bedchamber, knocking on the door. She covered her nightwear with a tartan dressing gown and unfastened the straps of her nightcap slightly, before rushing out into the Gryffindor common room to meet the Headmaster.

She expected there to be something terrible happening; Tom, although not at his full level of power at the moment, was still well on his way to becoming a dark wizard, and Minerva was confident that any missing wizard reports in the _Daily Prophet_ were his doing. Her first dreadful thought was that he had broken into the castle with his Death Eaters, and was preparing to destroy the school.

However, Albus had an unusual smile on his face, one that someone probably shouldn't be wearing at such early hours in the morning. But Minerva had long since learned to expect the unusual from Albus Dumbledore.

He led her through the castle silently whilst Minerva politely held her tongue, though she was desperate to question the headteacher on just what he was doing, dragging her out of bed at this late hour. Eventually, they reached Dumbledore's office, and he announced the password to the golden gargoyle that guarded the stairway.

"Sugar plum," he declared, flourishing his hands at the gargoyle. As expected, it began to stir and rotate, allowing Albus and Minerva to step onto the stairway and make their way up to his office. "Please, go inside," he offered as they reached the top. Minerva shrugged slightly, and headed straight into Albus's large office.

Minerva had seen the office a hundred times to know what it contained and how huge it was, but she was still mystified by the beautiful circular room every time she entered. However, today she tried to avoid gazing around the room. Obviously, she was here on business, whether or not Albus was going to tell her what it was yet. With an air of confidence, Minerva strolled through the office until she reached his desk.

Sitting in the large chair behind his desk was a young woman, only nineteen or twenty at the most. She had long, brown hair that was hanging untidily around her shoulders, and she was wearing shabby, holey clothes. The grey shirt she was wearing was open at the neck, exposing her breast, which she was using to feed a dark haired baby in her arms.

Minerva raised her eyebrow slowly, a little unsure of the scene that was playing out in front of her. With a small breath, she cleared her throat, and the woman flinched, causing the baby to lose it's grip on her breast and begin to cry. Hurriedly, the woman began to button up her shirt again to protect her modesty, and jiggled her child, her face flushing red.

A little confused, Minerva continued to remain silent until Albus stepped up behind her. "Minerva, I would like you to meet this young lady. Nadine Wilson."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Wilson," Minerva greeted stiffly, still a little sceptical as to why she had been brought here to meet this woman. However, she couldn't deny that there was something eerily familiar about her. There was an almost ethereal paleness of her skin; a slender, pointed chin; glittering, defensive eyes. Minerva looked to Albus questioningly, and thankfully he obliged.

"Minerva, this is your daughter," Albus stated airily.

Minerva suddenly felt her body go rigid, as if she were paralysed. Her mind flooded with a thousand explanations; none of which could connect to the way she felt at that moment.

After what seemed like an age of staring at the young girl, Minerva finally cracked open her mouth to speak. "H...how can this be?" she gasped, unsure of who she was actually talking to; herself, Albus or Nadine. She decided to turn her attention to Albus, as another worry settled in the pit of her stomach.

How could Albus know that she had a child? She had been sure never to tell anyone about the baby she gave birth to, and her relationship with Tom had definitely been a private affair. If Albus knew that Nadine was Minerva's daughter, did he also know about her old relationship with the man who now called himself Voldemort?

The blood in her chest ran cold as she considered this. All the while, Albus continued to allow his eyes to twinkle at her knowingly, as if he was well aware of the struggle she was currently going through.

"I assure you Minerva, whatever your decisions were when you gave birth to Nadine, and whomever is her father, I assure you I do not judge you for any action or decision you made," he told her. Minerva remained silent—she had never been able to understand this brilliant man and the way he almost seemed able to look into a person's soul. He reached into a glass bowl full of colourful sweets on his desk, and popped one into his mouth. "However, I think that now may be my cue to leave," he finished, and then made his way out of the office, leaving Minerva alone with Nadine.

They didn't speak for several moments, continuing to just stare at one another. Minerva was still shocked at her appearance, and now she knew who she was, she could place her familiarities. Her eyes were the same as Minerva's; deep, glimmering green jewels set in her face. Her long, dark brown hair was also reminiscent of Minerva's when she was younger, and she had the same slender, thin body that Minerva once had. However, that was where her similarities to her birth mother ended.

Her facial structure was identical to Tom's, and that was what scared her. Even though she looked quite afraid at the moment, clutching her baby protectively as if Minerva was going to snatch it out of her arms, Minerva still felt as though she were looking into her daughters face and seeing the murderer that she had once loved.

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. "I'm sorry," she started, unsure how else she should begin. "I'm sorry I gave you to the orphanage. It's not the life I ever planned for any child of mine, but you must understand—"

"—It's okay," Nadine concluded. She still looked slightly afraid, if not a little nervous, but there was a warm smile spreading on her face. "It's okay," she repeated. "I don't want to hear why you left me. All I ever wanted to do was find you, so that we could have a proper relationship."

"Where have you been?" Minerva asked desperately. Now she had finally broken the first barrier to speak, the questions were flowing. "Where did the family you went with live? Did they give you a good life?"

Nadine continued to smile. "Mama and Papa gave me a wonderful life," she assured Minerva. Her smile faltered a little at this point, however. "I lived in France, and went to Beauxbatons there. But Mama and Papa died this time last year."

Minerva felt her lip wobble in learning that her daughter had been forced to endure such suffering at a young age. "I'm so sorry, dear. How did they die?" she immediately expected the worst.

"They were elderly, even when they first adopted me," Nadine told her. "Papa was the first to die, and then Mama was so heartbroken that I think she just gave up."

They both remained silent at this point, and Minerva noticed a single tear streaming down Nadine's face as she looked down at the infant in her arms. Minerva sat down quickly in the chair opposite her daughter, and reached out to stroke her arm. Initially, Nadine flinched at the contact, but she warmed up fairly quickly.

"Is this why you came to find me, child?" Minerva asked softly.

"No," Nadine replied swiftly. "When I fell pregnant, I needed someone to guide me, to help me. But I didn't even know who you _were;_ it took me my entire pregnancy to discover who you were and where I could find you. So here I am...albeit, it's a little late to guide me through childbirth. But I thought you should meet me," she paused, and held out the infant towards Minerva. "And your Grandson. This is William."

Minerva took the baby tenderly, and looked down into his tiny face. He was clearly only a few weeks old, and had no recognisable features yet, other than the mop of ebony hair upon his head. Minerva carefully combed a stray piece of hair from his face, and leaned down to press a kiss to his soft, powdery forehead. "He's beautiful," she whispered.

She was still so shocked, but so thankful. She knew that one day, she would have to tell Nadine exactly what prompted her to give up her baby, but for now they could enjoy the moment together.

Minerva had been so lonely, for so many years, and now it seemed that she had found two new family members in one package. Happiness swelled within her, the strongest level of euphoria that she'd felt in a very long time.

"I want to build a relationship with you," Nadine paused, and licked her lips tenderly. "Mother."

Minerva turned her gaze to Nadine with tears in her eyes. "Of course," she replied, her breath catching in her throat.

"There's just one more thing," Nadine continued. Minerva nodded.

"Anything, dear."

Nadine took another deep breath. "I know it might be too soon," she started. "But I want to know who my father is. And maybe...meet him?"

Minerva felt any traces of happiness suddenly spiralling away from her heart. Of course, Nadine had no idea who her father was. It wasn't unlikely that she hadn't heard of Voldemort yet, and if she did know who he was, it would probably terrify her.

She had lost twenty years of her daughters life, and she wasn't going to ruin it already.

Minerva needed to tell her the truth.


	4. The White Picket Fence

**First prompt used: Slice of Life Moment**

 **Word Count: 920**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Four**_

 _ **The White Picket Fence**_

* * *

 _April 4th, 1953_

"I don't think we can do this anymore."

They were sitting across from one another at the old, polished dining table. Tom had his long, pale fingers around the ceramic mug in front of him, and he was flipping through the morning copy of _The Daily Prophet_. He was wearing a loose grey t-shirt, and his jet-black hair was scruffy, from only recently being out of bed.

Minerva was sipping tea from a china cup, her pinky finger stretched out daintily. Her dark hair was stretched back into a high bun, not a single hair out of place. She was dressed in a satin lilac nightdress, with a thin cotton dressing gown draped over her shoulders. In her other hand was a long, black cigarette holder, with a cigarette burning on the end. She placed her teacup down and took a long drag from it, before placing it on the edge of a glass astray in the centre of the table.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke those awful things during breakfast, Minerva," Tom murmured idly, clearly ignoring her initial statement. He didn't look up at her, but continued to turn the pages of his newspaper.

It was a standard morning for them. Everything was the same as it always was. They woke up at eight a.m. sharp, from the separate beds that they had slept in for the last year, and headed downstairs together in their bedclothes. Minerva would make breakfast for them both, serve tea, and they would eat in silence. By the time they had finished and cleaned up, Minerva's tawny owl, Penelope, would soar in through the kitchen window and drop _The Daily Prophet_ in Tom's lap.

They would sit there in silence in their picturesque kitchen, as the sun shone in and they went about their generic morning.

But there was nothing really picturesque about the life this couple led.

Minerva was becoming more and more depressed by the day. She hated the person that Tom was gradually becoming. She knew he had always been seduced by the darkness, but she had hoped, ever since they were young, that she would be able to help him into the light.

However, some things were just impossible for a person to come back from. Minerva didn't know how far Tom had taken his darkness, but she knew that there was something cold, and missing within him. Sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she was sure there was a hint of a snakelike evil within them.

On the other hand, Tom was becoming just as fed up with Minerva as time went on. Things hadn't been the same between them since 1953, and they had stretched into sleeping in separate beds over the last year. He didn't know why he still remained here, in Caithness, with her, anymore than she did.

There had been a time when they had both loved each other more than words could describe, but now they were left with a bitter emptiness, both of them trying to keep intact something that was cracked.

"I don't think we can _do_ this anymore," repeated Minerva, a little louder this time.

Tom looked up from his newspaper, his dark eyes glimmering and a smirk growing on his face. "So you say, Minerva," he paused. "Every day."

A tinge of pink spread to her cheeks, and she pursed her lips. "I mean it today, Tom."

"I see," he replied, and he stood up from the table, pushing his chair out. He strode towards Minerva, and took the cigarette holder from her fingers as she was drawing it to her mouth once more. She turned her gaze on him icily, and he entwined his fingers with hers, pulling her to her feet.

She continued to watch him as they stood together by the table, their hands still clasped. "What are you doing, Tom?" she murmured, aware that their faces were extremely close.

"I just want to ensure that you are...well, sure," he purred. "About this decision you are so hell-bent on making."

His face was leering towards hers, until their foreheads collided. "You know it's the right thing to do," she replied softly, but her confident exterior was cracking. "We're drifting apart."

"I know," he answered in a sing-song voice. "But we can try and make it work, just one more time..." he leaned closer and she felt his hot breath on her lips, and she caught the scent of coffee in her nose. Her breath caught in her throat, and her bottom lip shudder.

* * *

Less than an hour later, they were laid on their backs in one of their beds. This was a change in the routine that they were used to, and it could only mean one thing.

Tom knew she was serious.

Even though she had slipped up and fallen into his bed on this day, it was the last time she would ever do so. She knew she had the strength within her to break up their relationship.

"Tom?" she murmured into the darkness of the bedroom.

"Yes, Minerva?" he answered silkily.

"I'm filing for divorce."


	5. The Stork's Delivery

**First prompt used: First Child**

 **Word Count: 1,041**

* * *

 _ **The Stork**_ _ **'s Delivery**_

 _ **Chapter Five**_

* * *

 _17_ _th_ _January, 1953_

"You can do this, Minerva," Minerva told herself through short, sharp breaths. "You can do this."

She was laying on her back in her bed in Caithness, her hands clutching the rungs of the frame behind her. She was wearing a large, white cotton nightdress, which was stretched over her swollen, pregnant stomach.

Slowly, she licked her lips and did her best to take a deep breath, her bottom lip shuddering. Sweat was dripping down her forehead as she braced herself for the next painful, body-rippling contraction.

It tore through her body excruciatingly. As her back arched in agony, she chewed down on her lip to try and muffle her screams, but it was pointless. Eventually, she drew blood in her lip and had to let go, allowing her body to release the screams of mirth that reflected her undeniable pain.

Childbirth wasn't supposed to happen alone, especially not when the mother was only seventeen years old. Someone was supposed to be with you—a mother, a nurse, the father of the baby. Minerva's thoughts flickered to Tom while she recovered from the contraction, her entire body shuddering in the aftermath; a dormant volcano waiting for the next eruption.

Where was he? Why wasn't he here with her, as she went through the excruciating pains of giving birth to their child?

Anger and distress swelled in her belly as she lolled her head to the side, trying to wipe her damp forehead on the pillow beside her. She might not know where he was, but she knew perfectly well what he was doing. The stupid man just couldn't keep his clutches out of the darkness. It was so seductive to him, sucking him in a little deeper day by day.

He was out there now, building his forces. Even though she had sent an owl to him the moment she felt the first labour pain—over fourteen hours ago—he still hadn't returned home to be with her. Tears began to roll down her face as she felt her middle regions beginning to contract again.

Thankfully, her torment didn't last for too much longer. As she the contraction rippled through her, she forced herself to push until she was blue in the face. A vein stood out on her forehead drastically, looking as though it was going to burst, and her mouth was stretched open in a wide, ear-splitting scream. After what felt like an age, she felt the baby's head pushing through her, breaking through.

It tumbled onto the bed between her legs, and Minerva staggered into a sitting position, still whimpering. As she looked at the bloody, pink mass of flesh in front of her, the baby began to cry hysterically. It was a girl.

Tears continued to stream down Minerva's face as she scooped the baby up into her arms, while it was still connected to her by the umbilical cord. She was so beautiful, so innocent, so precious. As the baby continued to cry, Minerva buried her face into her neck, crying along with her.

Minerva desperately wanted to believe that she could raise this child with Tom. Her heart was telling her that Tom would change now that they had a baby; that he would stop his pursuit of immortality and eminent power and just be a normal man, ready to settle down and live with his normal wife and daughter. He would be so overcome at the fact that he had created a life with Minerva, that he would stop everything, lose the followers and the dark magic.

But she knew it was a desperate hope. Nothing would change Tom's path to destruction. Minerva could bear it, but a child shouldn't be brought up with a father who had long since lost his soul.

So, after crying her heart out into the baby's distraught, screaming chest, Minerva made the decision that she knew was the right one. As soon as she was ready, she would apparate to a Muggle orphanage and deposit the baby there. She needed a shot at a safe life.

This baby would never be safe with Tom Riddle as a father. No one knew how far he was going to take his destructive path. No one knew what atrocities he could commit in the future.

* * *

When Tom arrived home two days later, it was as though no baby had ever made it's way through the old house in Caithness.

He hovered in the hallway in his travelling cloak, waiting. Before long, there was the tell-tale sound of heels click-clacking on the tiled floor. Minerva arrived around the corner into the hallway, dressed immaculately in a grey and black dress suit, stiletto heeled ankle boots and pulling on a pair of velvet travelling gloves. Her body was as thin and sleek as it had been nine months ago; any hint of her pregnancy stomach had been pulled back and tucked away.

Her face was smooth and emotionless as she cast her cold gaze on him. "Where were you?" she asked him immediately.

A smile spread onto Tom's face slowly, and he advanced upon her with his arms outstretched. "Later, Minerva. Where is the bundle of joy?"

"Dead," Minerva replied crisply. "She died during childbirth."

Tom raised a thick, dark eyebrow and stared down at her, still standing there with his arms comically outstretched. Minerva had stated it so calmly, so businesslike, that it was almost difficult to believe. "Wh...what?" he answered in a slow, drawling voice.

Minerva held his gaze. "She died during childbirth," she repeated. "It was too difficult to do it alone."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, and then eventually Tom pulled her into his chest, where he held her comfortingly.

As she allowed herself to be burrowed into his chest, Minerva retained a sigh of relief. He believed her.

Their baby would be safe from Tom Riddle.


	6. I Do, Don't I?

**Prompt: Wedding**

 **Word Count: 1,573**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Six**_

 _ **I Do, Don**_ _ **'t I?**_

* * *

 _August 28_ _th_ _, 1952_

"It's going to be fine, Minerva," Tom whispered to her, as he led her through the threshold of a small, dimly lit church. It was within a Muggle village far down in the south of England, called Arundel. There was a large, picturesque castle that dominated the majority of the quaint village, and Minerva had spotted several charming stately homes as Tom had dragged her to the church. However, they weren't here to compliment the scenery.

They were in Arundel because it provided the perfect concealment for their wedding. No one would think to look for them here—none of Tom's friends would ever imagine that he would spend a day in a _Muggle_ village of all places, and Minerva's friends were busy spending the summer holidays with their families. Minerva's parents had no idea that Arundel even existed, as they lived high up in Scotland, and even so, they were under the impression that Minerva was spending the day at Loch Ness.

It was a quick, secretive ceremony that they wanted. Minerva had strict rules around abstinence before marriage, and Tom had won her over with his charming good looks, and even more charming personality. Of course, there was the hidden danger about him; the allure of darkness—but Minerva was confident that it would soon pass as he aged.

She was young and carefree, and she wanted to give herself over to the man she loved.

But they had to take precautions. There was no way that Minerva's father would _ever_ allow the two of them to marry—he had met Tom, and it was clear from the moment he laid eyes on her beloved that he was not going to give them his blessing. It was frowned upon to marry before the age of eighteen, so parental consent had to be given.

Of course, Robert, the religious Presbyterian Reverend, would never give his consent to allow Minerva to marry the boy he had immediately despised, so the couple were forced to take matters into their own hands. Luckily, the pair were very gifted with their use of magic, and it had been fairly easy to perform a charm that could replicate Robert McGonagall's signature onto the required marriage documents.

Now they had the church, the documents, and themselves. They headed into the church, Tom looking as charming and well-groomed as ever, marching down the aisle ahead of her, and Minerva biting her lip with nervous excitement. The Vicar that would perform their ceremony was standing at the altar, and he greeted them both warmly, but disappointment settled when he realised that they had arrived alone.

"I'm sorry," he apologised deeply, his grey beard quivering as he spoke. "But I cannot marry you unless you have two witnesses."

Minerva almost crumbled right there. She had built up the courage to marry this man, and done everything to avoid their friends and family, including lie to her parents—and now the church wasn't going to marry them. She looked up at her fiancé worriedly, but his face remained impassively cool and collected

"Give me five minutes, Father. I will find two witnesses," he assured the vicar. He turned on his heel and left the altar. Minerva remained beside the Vicar and watched as Tom headed over to the back of the church, where an elderly couple sat together in the farthest pew, holding hands. Tom slithered up beside them, and smiled.

The lady immediately grinned toothily back, her wrinkles deepening. He had that effect on women with his sharp, angular features, inviting smile, and graceful demeanour. His hair was glossy, jet black and smoothed back. He focused his intention on the older woman, as the gentleman beside her didn't look quite so welcoming.

"Good afternoon," Tom greeted them politely. "I know this may come across as a little impersonal and sudden, but I was wondering if you could help me."

The elderly man opened his mouth to answer, but the woman spoke first. "Of course, young man. How can we help you?"

Tom gestured over to Minerva, and a look of sadness washed over his face. "My fiancé and I came here to marry today," he told her. "But the Vicar has told us we have to have two witnesses. We're runaways, you see—we eloped because her father was abusive."

Minerva heard the lie across the church and felt guilt twist like a knot in her stomach. Her father was a wonderful man. He was very strict, but he had never once laid a hand on her or her brothers. The fact that Tom had just lied outright to these people made her insides quiver with shame.

However, there was nothing she could do about it now. The elderly woman looked extremely apologetic, and patted Tom's arm soothingly. "Oh, my dear. Of course, my husband and I will be happy to bear witness to your wedding."

Tom immediately brightened up his act, but this all appeared to be too much for her husband. He threw his arm over his wife suddenly, and gave Tom a disgruntled appearance. "I'm sorry, son. This has gone far enough."

"I beg your pardon, Sir?" Tom questioned politely, but Minerva saw the way his dark eyebrow shot up, and the corners of his mouth stretched disdainfully. He wasn't happy.

"It's not our place to be witnesses to your wedding," the man replied gruffly. "The young lassie over there doesn't look a day over sixteen—no, it doesn't seem right, lad. In fact, I think you should take her home, right now, and smooth it over with her parents. In fact..." the old man dug around in the pocket of his jacket, until he retrieved a leather wallet. "I'll give you some money for the train home."

Once he looked up with a handful of Muggle money in his hand, Tom had already whipped his wand out of his pocket in one swift action, and aimed it at the old man, cleverly keeping it below the back of the pew in front of them, so that the vicar wouldn't see. Minerva saw the warm, kindly eyes of the old lady widen in shock, and the expression freeze on the face of the old man. She knew what he had done.

" _Imperio,_ " he muttered swiftly at the man. Immediately, his eyes clouded over and his jaw slackened; he was under Tom's control. "You and your wife are going to bear witness to my wedding," he ordered. "You will continue to do as I say until the wedding is over."

The man remained silent, but it was evident that Tom had gotten the message across.

"What are you doing?" whispered the old woman fearfully. Tom quickly advanced the wand on her.

" _Obliviate_ ," he murmured, effectively erasing the memory he had just created from her mind. As soon as it was gone, her kind smile returned.

"So, are you happy to be witnesses while we marry?" Tom asked, staring directly at the old man.

He nodded slowly. "We'll bear witness to your marriage," he replied.

The old woman smiled jovially and nodded, clearly oblivious to the new, glazed over appearance to her husband. Tom thanked them both, and jumped up from the pew, heading over to the altar.

He told the Vicar that the wedding could go ahead, and he instructed Minerva to wait at the end of the aisle, while he stood with Tom. However, Tom walked Minerva to the back doors of the church initially, and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. She glared at him as he backed away, her eyes like two frozen chips of ice.

"I know what you did," she hissed. "You used an _Unforgivable Curse!_ That's _illegal_ , Tom!"

Tom patted her hand gently. "Now now," he murmured. "It was so we could go ahead with this. He wasn't going to allow it, otherwise." He quickly pressed a finger to Minerva's lips as she opened her mouth to speak again. "We'll talk about it after the wedding, Minerva."

Before she could reply, Tom had pulled his hand away, and was gliding back to the other side of the church. She waited until he was standing in front of the Vicar, and the organ began playing, and then proceeded to saunter slowly down the aisle.

It wasn't her ideal wedding. Within her childhood dreams, she had been wearing a white dress, not a woollen grey skirt and a travelling cloak. But it didn't matter—the man she was going to give her heart and body to was standing at the other side of the aisle.

And that made her the happiest woman in the world.


	7. Daddy Knows Best

**Prompt: Meeting the Parents**

 **Word Count: 1,102**

* * *

 _ **Daddy Knows Best**_

 _ **Chapter Seven**_

* * *

 _April 29t_ _h_ _, 1951_

Minerva knew immediately that her father did _not_ like Tom.

She didn't originally want to fetch him along to their annual Easter meal. It was an awkward enough tradition even before Minerva had a boyfriend. All they did was sit in silence, and her father would ask uncomfortable questions about what she got up to at Hogwarts. Things between her father and mother had been rocky since Minerva was about ten years old, so questioning her use of magic was usually like slicing a judgemental knife through her mother.

Minerva had written to her mother initially to tell her that she had started a private relationship with a boy from school. She had hoped that she would keep it from her father, at least for a little while, but her mother didn't like to keep secrets from him. Within the same week that Minerva had initially wrote to her mother, her father had sent her a short letter, insisting that she bring Tom along for dinner on Easter Sunday.

Even though Minerva had hoped desperately that Tom would refuse the offer, he was more than happy to oblige. After all, he only had an orphanage full of Muggle children to return to during the holidays, so he usually spent them alone at Hogwarts.

As soon as they arrived at the old McGonagall home in Caithness, Robert's face had stiffened at the sight of Tom. Minerva's Muggle father was very easy to read, due to only having around three expressions. This tight-lipped, stern-eyed one was his most unimpressed demeanour, and the use of it made it obvious that he did not like Tom Riddle.

They sat through dinner quietly. Minerva's mother did her best to make polite conversation with Tom, making a concious effort to engage with him, as did both of her brothers. Robert on the other hand made absolutely no effort to speak to him, simply shooting him the occasional rude, disinterested glance.

After everyone had finished all three courses were finished, her father promptly stood up, muttering something about clearing up the kitchen. When her mother jumped up to help, Minerva quickly insisted she stay sat down, and she scooped up all the empty plates, proceeding to carry hem into the kitchen.

Her father was standing at the back door with a cigarette in his hand, staring out into the late afternoon. Minerva dispensed the plates loudly on the counter, and her father flinched. After taking a long drag on his cigarette, he turned his face to Minerva, their cold gazes meeting.

"Why are you being so ignorant to Tom, Father?" she questioned in a quiet voice. She could hear her mother chatting animatedly to Tom in the dining room, but it didn't necessarily mean that Tom wasn't eavesdropping.

"He's not right for you, Minerva," he muttered in response. "I've seen his type before—all charisma, charming the ladies with that come-hither look. Believe me, child. I know what's best for you, and he's not."

"You don't even know him!"

"I've known many boys like him over the years. He'll break your heart, and you'll come crying back to your mother and me." He took another long inhale from his cigarette, and docked it out on the decking. "You're fifteen years old, Minerva. You're still a little girl. You don't know what you want yet."

Minerva opened her mouth to reply, but her father had turned his attention back to the garden outside, and she knew that whatever she said would be meaningless. Shooting one last glowering look at her father's back, she stormed back into the dining room.

Her mother was clearing up the last few glasses and bits of cutlery on the table. Clearly, they had both overheard Minerva shouting at her father, and she became instantly aware of the sympathetic look that her mother was giving her.

After she had taken every last piece of dinnerware back into the kitchen, Minerva's mother suggested that she and Tom go and sit in the lounge whilst she prepared dessert. So, Minerva showed Tom to the airy, comfortable lounge, and they both sat down on the settee.

She was hoping that Tom would sympathise with her about the argument she'd just had with her father in the kitchen, but it was immediately obvious that Tom didn't want to discuss that issue. His enchanting smile had tightened into the shadow of a scowl.

"You didn't tell me your father was a _Muggle_ , Minerva," he sneered. "I thought you were Pureblood."

Minerva furrowed her brow at Tom. How was this relevant at all? "I never told you I was Pureblood or any kind of blood," she grumbled. "What does this have to do with anything?"

He crossed his arms, and continued to purse his lips in her direction. "You know my feelings about Muggles."

Minerva rolled her eyes expressively. After the discussion she'd just engaged in, Tom's arrogant spiel about his feelings on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards just wasn't necessary at this moment in time. Before he could continue, Minerva spoke. "Don't start with this now, Tom," she hissed. "Your father was a Muggle. You never asked about my parentage, just assumed."

Tom grit his teeth angrily. "Don't bring up that man! I told you that in _confidence_ , Minerva."

"Well, don't be such a hypocrite!"

"I'm not—"

"—what's going on in here?"

Tom and Minerva both looked at the doorway suddenly, where her mother was standing, wearing her apron. Minerva flushed deeply, while Tom quickly contorted his face into his usual delightful, alluring expression. Her mother's face softened considerably.

"Sorry, Mother," Minerva mumbled, shooting a glance at Tom.

She smiled tightly, and unfastened the strings of her apron. "Come and sit down, dears. Pudding is ready."

With another roll of her eyes, Minerva climbed up from the sofa. As she headed back into the dining room, she hoped desperately that Tom would eventually get over this hatred he held for Muggles.


	8. Can You Keep a Secret?

**Prompt: First Date**

 **Word Count: 711**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Eight**_

 _ **Can You Keep a Secret?**_

* * *

 _February 14_ _th_ _, 1951_

Hogsmeade was cold, but the shops and pubs were boasting warm, welcoming lights. The sky was overcast, cloudy and darkening, and the cobbled floor was wet and glowing from the candlelight. Rain poured down from the overcast sky as Minerva and her friend, Eileen Prince, hurried through the streets beneath a large umbrella.

It was the annual Valentine's Day Hogsmeade visit, and both Minerva and Eileen had secured dates, and they were heading through the village towards Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. It was a place they usually bypassed, preferring instead to socialise and drink Butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks.

The window was slightly foggy, letting the soft light glow pleasantly onto the dark street. Minerva felt her lip curling slightly at the bright pink woodwork—she had always preferred darker colours—but Eileen was grinning excitedly. They both peered through the fogged windows, trying to get a better look inside before they burst across the threshold.

The tables were covered with overly frilly, lacy tablecloths, and to Minerva's distaste, she noticed that most of the décor was in multiple shades of pink. It was an entirely gaudy place, but it was the place that they had agreed to meet, nonetheless. Upon further inspection, she spotted her date at a table in the far corner, and butterflies began to flutter insatiably in her stomach.

Her date, Tom Riddle, looked _wonderful._ He was wearing a smart white shirt and a black tie underneath his robes, and he was casting a nonchalant look around the excessively decorated tearoom. She hadn't seen him since he had left Hogwarts last year, but he still looked just as handsome. His jaw was rigid and chiselled, and his dark eyes leered provocatively around the room. Minerva's stomach swirled at the sight of him.

Tom Riddle had been the fancy of many girls since he had turned fourteen and grew about three inches over the summer holidays, but he hadn't shown an interest in any of those girls. Instead, he decided to continuously tail Minerva around the library, flirting and attempting to seduce her until she finally gave into his charm. When she asked why he hadn't chosen any of the girls who doted after him, he had smirked and told her he preferred the chase, not to be chased.

"Tom looks great, doesn't he Minerva?" Eileen murmured wistfully. Minerva shot her a glance and half a smile. Though she would never outwardly show it, she couldn't deny that it pleased her a little when others were jealous.

"Let's go in. I can see your date over there," Minerva nodded to a porky Hufflepuff boy who was sitting at a table nearest to the counter, chatting animatedly to the dark haired Madam Puddifoot, and eyeing up the cream cakes greedily. Eileen rolled her eyes, and they both headed inside, separating as they joined their dates.

Trying to appear confident, Minerva strolled right up to where Tom was sitting, and took off her cloak, folding it and placing it neatly on the back of the chair. He smiled up at her, his ebony eyes glittering, and reached for the baby pink teapot that was in the middle of the table, surrounded by several china teacups.

"So you finally decided to come inside, after staring at me for so long through the window," he murmured. "How good of you." He was teasing her, trying to embarrass her, and it worked. Minerva's confidence bubble shattered immediately, and she felt her face begin to glow red. She quickly reached for the cup of tea that he had just served her, and took a grateful sip.

Their date was slightly uncomfortable and consisted of a lot of awkward silences, which were usually filled by a smart comment by Tom, or a nervous throat-clearing by Minerva. However, she must have done something right.

By the time they were down to the dregs of the teapot, Tom had idly suggested that they attempt a relationship.

Even if it had to be a private one.


	9. Snowflake Kisses

**Prompt: First Kiss**

 **Word Count: 1,393**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Nine**_

 _ **Snowflake Kisses**_

* * *

 _July 3_ _rd_ _, 1950_

Minerva knew that Tom would turn up at the library before he even arrived.

She was studying a sixth year book on Transfiguration intently, something that wasn't really required of her yet, as she was only in her fourth year. Ever since hearing the term a year before, she had longed to extend her abilities into becoming an Animagus, so Minerva was planning to learn as much on the subject as she could, before actually attempting to become one.

The door to the library slammed heavily, followed by the disgruntled hiss of the librarian. Minerva knew immediately that it was Tom—only Tom got away with making so much noise when he came into the library. The librarian may have muttered under her breath when she noticed who it was causing a racket in her library, but anyone else would've been given a lot more of a telling off.

He was sniggering and muttering loudly to his usually group of friends—Malfoy, Avery, and Lestrange. Minerva did her best to continue to read the yellowing pages of her book, but as the voices grew closer, the words began to blur, failing to make any sense in her mind. It just became too distracting when he was around.

She looked up just as reached the end of the bookshelf nearby to where she was sat. Once his gaze fell upon her, a steady smirk grew on his features. He turned to his group of friends, whispering something ineligible, and then separated from them and heading towards Minerva.

She rolled her eyes expressively as he flung his school bag heavily onto the floor, and slumped into the seat opposite her. Slowly, Minerva looked up from her book, casting her steely glare on his contemptuous, sneering face.

A series of mutters and scoffs from somewhere behind her caused Minerva to whip around in her seat, where she noticed a group of sixth year Slytherin girls engaging in an angry, whispered conversation, whilst shooting envious glances at Minerva. She held in the urge to roll her eyes again—sadly, it wasn't new.

For the whole school year, Tom had been preying after her. It had been slightly irritating at first, but as the summer holidays loomed closer, it was bordering on inappropriate.

Tom was the school enigma. He starred in a key role of the daydreams of almost every teenage girl at Hogwarts, and any girl who knew him wished desperately that he would pick her to date. He was lusted after desperately, mainly due to the fact that right up until his seventh year, he hadn't shown an interest in any girls at Hogwarts. Not until he turned seventeen, and he finally began to notice the fourteen year old Minerva.

Minerva had assumed originally that Tom Riddle must have been making a mistake when he dropped his belongings beside her study table in the library for the first time. Slytherins did not generally make casual conversation with Gryffindors, their rivals. It just wasn't something that they did, not unless they wanted a lifetime of taunting from their friends. But even the people who desperately wanted to be a part of Tom's life also feared him. No one would dare taunt him for the choices he made.

Frankly, Minerva didn't really know what there was to be scared of. Yes, he was intimidatingly good looking, and his late night habit for sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library led many to believe that he had a penance for the dark arts. But in reality, he was just a seventeen year old boy with far too much charisma and a slightly bad attitude.

Minerva knew that Tom Riddle was all too aware of how she felt about him, but he still pursued her all the same. But, whilst she did her best to maintain a lofty, uninterested exterior, deep down she was quite impressed by his perseverance.

"Minerva, as you know, I won't be returning to Hogwarts after the summer," he told her, while Minerva continued to stare blankly at her Transfiguration book.

"Obviously," she murmured in response.

"So, I won't be seeing you anymore," he purred, reaching out with his pale, long-fingered hand and snatching away her book. She glared at him.

"What do you want, Tom?" she asked, exasperated.

His smirk deepened, and she felt heat creeping up her neck at the alluring look in his eye. "How about a goodbye kiss?"

Her cheeks flared with a blush, and she fought the urge to seize her Transfiguration book out of his hands and smack him over the head with it. "Shut up!" she yelled, mortified. The Slytherin girls tittered at her outburst.

"Shh!" came a hiss. Minerva glanced up, and spotted the librarian glaring at them down their row of books, looking agitated. Minerva turned her stare on Tom. Typical—the librarian always chose to conveniently ignore Tom when it was he who was making noise.

"Will you just leave me alone?" she whispered to Tom, trying to snatch her book back. He held it above his head, out of her reach. "I need to study!"

"You don't need to study..." Tom held the front of the book in front of his face, dodging it out of Minerva's grasp. "...Level Six: Transfiguration. Are they letting you take your OWLs early?"

"Of course not," grumbled Minerva, sitting back down. The Slytherin girls were continuing to giggle hysterically at her prolonged embarrassment. "Please, just leave me be."

His dark eyes glittered wickedly. "Okay," he replied. "I'll leave you alone. For the rest of the school year."

Minerva cocked an eyebrow. This seemed too good to be true. "Really?"

"If you give me just one goodbye kiss." His eyes continued to glimmer menacingly, and Minerva did her best to swallow down the insult that was brewing in her throat.

"You're disgusting," she hissed.

"Would you _like_ another month to study freely and in peace?"

"More than anything."

Tom leaned across the table, smirking so widely that the tips of his bright white molars were exposed. Something stirred within her as she accidentally breathed in his boyish smell; a clean scent of toothpaste and peppermint shampoo.

Kissing him wouldn't be the worst thing she could do in the world. He would leave her alone for the rest of the school year, and on the other hand, it would certainly quieten that incessant giggling from behind Minerva.

Rolling her eyes one more time, and trying not to let a small smile creep onto her face, Minerva put her head in her hands. "Fine," she muttered, staring down at the wooden desk. "Fine."

Tom lifted a neat, ebony eyebrow. "Really?"

Embarrassment flourished once more within Minerva. Had he been joking? She didn't think she could bear the mortification if he had. "Yes," she muttered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

Tom continued to lean across the table, reaching out with his hands to tilt up her chin. Minerva looked at him, shocked at how deep his dark eyes seemed to go when they were so close to her. As she fell into the raven black pools in front of her, she heard several gasps of shock sound from the Slytherin table.

His lips collided with hers, and she was surprised at how cool they were. Tom Riddle was a glacier, melting against her flush embarrassment as his lips thawed against hers. She had only expected a peck, but his soft mouth was soon pushing hers open, his tongue dashing inside her mouth and dancing with hers.

When he pulled away a few seconds later, Minerva felt something new pooling in the depths of her stomach. Tom Riddle stood up from the desk, smirking down at her, as she did her best to avoid his eye contact.

"See you around, Minerva."


	10. Dawn of a New World

**Prompt: First Encounter**

 **Word Count: 590**

* * *

 _ **Dawn of a New World**_

 _ **Chapter Ten**_

* * *

 _September 1_ _st_ _, 1947_

"McGonagall, Minerva," called Professor Merrythought, reading from her long scroll of names. Tom let his eyes rest on the throng of students as they separated, allowing Minerva McGonagall to shuffle up to the stage.

Every pair of eyes in the Great Hall followed a young girl as she headed up to the front of the line of first year students, towards the stool where she would be sorted into a house.

She was the first student to pique Tom's interest. He had been sitting over at the Slytherin table, with his head resting on his palm, watching the trail of first years trickle into their respective, sorted houses. He clapped unenthusiastically when anyone was sorted into Slytherin alongside him, but really, he just wanted the feast to be over, so that he could go down to the Slytherin common room.

Only an hour into the welcome feast, and Tom had already socialised with other students _more_ than enough.

He was surprised by how confident the young girl appeared when she walked up to to the stool. The other students bit their lips; shuddered with embarrassment; stared at the floor. But Minerva paraded straight through the group of first years, and stalked up to the front of the hall, with her chest thrust out and her head held high.

Her new uniform was smart and neat, with her school tie fastened in an immaculate knot. Her robes swished as she stalked up to the stool, whipped around and sat down heavily. She stared straight ahead with deep, emerald green eyes, casting icy glances at anyone who made eye contact with her.

Professor Merrythought placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and it slipped down over her face, exposing only her long, tightly braided black hair.

A small, interested smile crept onto Tom's face. There was no doubt about it—this girl would definitely be sorted into Slytherin. Her sharp features and meaningful stares spoke volumes to Tom.

"Gryffindor!" called the Sorting Hat, almost seconds after it had slipped onto her face. Her mouth spread into a grin, as the Gryffindor table gave a roar of applause.

She jumped down from the stool, and strode over to the table, where a seat was already being made for her. Tom continued to watch her, slightly confused.

The Matron at the Orphanage used to tell him to never judge a book by it's cover—but he always did have a habit of not listening to her.

oOo

A few hours later, when everyone was heading to the common rooms, Minerva realised she had left her school hat at the Gryffindor table.

She whipped around in the middle of the corridor, beginning to weave her way through the constant stream of students. Within minutes, the smaller girl had collided with an older, taller boy.

"Watch where you're going!" a hiss emitted from the mouth of her victim. She glared up at him, her pink lips pursing.

"Hurry up, Tom," one of the other older boys shouted to the boy that Minerva had just bumped into. Tom continued to stare back at her for a few moments, his lips twisting into an unusual smirk.

"Hmph," muttered Minerva, as she pushed past him, heading back to the hall. There was no way she would ever have anything to do with _that_ guy.


End file.
